Born out of humble beginnings in 1983, Mountain Stage has blossomed to become not just one of Appalachia’s most sought after musical platforms, but one of all of Americana and roots music’s most cherished stages. Broadcasting bi-monthly to nearly 300 NPR stations nationwide, the program has welcomed everyone from John Prine to Wilco, Wynonna Judd, and even Widespread Panic during its historic 40-year run. To celebrate the achievement, Mountain Stage and Oh Boy Records have partnered to release the 21-song Live On Mountain Stage: Outlaws and Outliers (released April 19).
According to Larry Groce — Mountain Stage host from 1983 to 2021 and one of the compilation’s curators — distilling 40 years of music into one album was quite the task. Deliberations began with a list of over 150 songs before landing on the 21 that made the album.
“At first we just looked at the artist named and began to narrow it down from there,” Groce describes the process to BGS. “After several narrowings we began listening to some of them, getting the list down to about 30 before cutting it further down to the 21 that made the album.”
Sticking close to the country, folk, and bluegrass sounds of the show’s West Virginia home, the album includes performances from Appalachia’s own – like current Mountain Stage host Kathy Mattea, Tyler Childers, Sierra Ferrell, and Tim O’Brien alongside A-listers like Prine, Eric Church, Alison Krauss, and Jason Isbell. Helping to attract and keep such a diverse array of talent returning has been the program’s artist-first approach, which caters to the performers and platforms great songs over all else.
“We’re not trying to be trendsetters and we aren’t trying to be hip,” asserts Groce, who broke onto the scene as a singer-songwriter with his song “Junk Food Junkie” in 1976. “We try to look at things in the long run by booking talent we think will last. Our goal has always been to put the artist at the center of the show rather than myself, the program, or anyone else. There’s people that would argue that we should always be pushing the brand, but that’s not the way we — or anyone else — operates in West Virginia.”
One of the many artists appreciative of that approach is Molly Tuttle, who last appeared on Mountain Stage in 2023 to support her album City Of Gold, which has since earned her a second Grammy win for Best Bluegrass Album. Born in California, Tuttle didn’t become aware of the show until moving to Nashville in 2015. She’s gone on to play the show three times, the first being a visit in 2018 that provided the performance of “You Didn’t Call My Name” that made the compilation.
Of the show, Tuttle says what she’s cherished most about her time on it is the chance to collaborate and catch up with her colleagues.
“It’s one of the few places where you get to meet, converse and collaborate with other musicians, which typically only happens for us on the road at music festivals,” explains Tuttle. “That really speaks to the trust Larry Groce and the entire Mountain Stage team have in giving the artists freedom to do what they want. What results is a well curated show that’s become one of the most important showcases around for this kind of music.”
In agreement with Tuttle is Tim O’Brien, a native West Virginian who made his Mountain Stage debut in the late ’80s with Hot Rize, an occasion he credits to his mother that has sparked too many follow-up visits to count.
“She called my sister and I — who were living in Colorado at the time — to tell us about it after hearing about it on the local radio back home,” recalls O’Brien, whose song “Cup Of Sugar” from a 2021 appearance is featured on the record. “She immediately thought we’d be a good fit for it, so she wrote them a postcard one day asking when they were going to get Hot Rize on. It was a good fit the first time, and always has been.”
“I remember writing her back saying ‘Your son’s band is much more famous than we are,” Groce jokes as he looks back on the moment. “The question is, does he want to go on the show, not whether we’ll have him or not. And sure enough, we booked Hot Rize shortly thereafter.”
The Indigo Girls perform on Mountain Stage. Photo by Brian Blauser.
It’s that attitude of never feeling above anyone or anything that has helped Mountain Stage to excel and have the lasting legacy that it does. It captures its home region of West Virginia and Appalachia better than most any other music-related program does, both in sound and in sentiment. It’s the latter that’s arguably been the biggest asset in attracting bigger names as the show taps into the majestic mountains around them.
“There’s many different kinds of people that live in Appalachia, but one thing that’s really bedrock is supporting one another, and that shows with Mountain Stage and how they put the program on,” reflects O’Brien. “It’s intimate and friendly, just like the state.”
Photo Credit: Tim O’Brien Band performing on Mountain Stage by Chris Morris; Molly Tuttle performs on Mountain Stage by Josh Saul.
This week, BGS readers were graced by two special, Valentine’s Day-themed premieres from jamgrass supergroup The High Hawks and singer-songwriter Caroline Cotter. Plus, our old friend, Kentucky-based cellist Ben Sollee, brought us a gorgeous new performance video of a John Prine cover shot surrounded by verdant houseplants.
Below, catch up on that new music you might have missed from earlier in the week and discover brand new, exclusive premieres from bluegrass group Sideline and indie/Americana duo the Ballroom Thieves. It’s all right here on BGS and… You Gotta Hear This!
Sideline, “The Lives of the Innocent”
Artist:Sideline Hometown: Raleigh, North Carolina Song: “The Lives of the Innocent” Release Date: February 16, 2024 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “It was great getting back in the studio after over two years. There was a lot of bottled-up magic that came bursting out when we hit the first downbeat. This song fit the very definition of what Sideline is as a sound and the energy we project. It certainly enters the catalog as a blood-pumping, foot stomping, Sideline hit for the ages.” – Skip Cherryholmes, guitar
“‘The Lives of the Innocent’ was a song that was inspired by the Hibriten Guards during the Civil War that mustered in Alexander County, North Carolina. They saw heavy combat during the war, suffering a high casualty rate, and this tune chronicles what potentially could have been one of the soldiers in those ranks. Steve [Dilling] and the guys bumped the tempo a little and captured the essence of the song and the singing is just top-notch!” – Shannon Slaughter, songwriter
Track Credits: Skip Cherryholmes – Guitar Steve Dilling – Banjo, harmony vocal Matt Flake – Fiddle Nick Goad – Mandolin, harmony vocal Kyle Windbeck – Bass Bailey Coe – Lead vocal
The Ballroom Thieves, “Tender”
Artist:The Ballroom Thieves Hometown: Easton, Massachusetts Song: “Tender” Album:Sundust Release Date: April 12, 2024 Label: Nettwerk Music Group
In Their Words: “We were listening to the band Watchhouse at Newport Folk Festival in 2022 and their sparse instrumentation and fluid melodies inspired us to start writing ‘Tender’ right on the spot. We learn a lot from our peers, and in this case, the lesson was about the importance of creating space for your songs to breathe so you can hear what’s happening between the notes.” – The Ballroom Thieves
In Their Words: “John Prine had a knack for folding mantras in to his songs. This song has a message that resonates deeply with my journey as a creative, father, and husband [and] that is so needed in this fitful world. ‘When love comes your way, you learn to say, I love you!’” – Ben Sollee
Artist:The High Hawks Hometown: Boulder, Colorado and All Points Between, USA Song: “This Is What Love Feels Like” Album:Mother Nature’s Show Release Date: February 16, 2024
In Their Words: “This song sits in a slightly different world than the rest of The High Hawks’ new record. It’s a step into the mind of a hopeless romantic at a show, waiting for the band to come on with his love by his side. Sometimes the world just seems to conspire to make everything just right. This is about one of those nights. The song came out of a co-write with Chris Gelbuda, Shawn Camp, and myself one Nashville summer afternoon. I’m glad it found a home with The High Hawks!” — Vince Herman
Artist:Caroline Cotter Hometown: from Providence, Rhode Island; currently living in Ellsworth, Maine Song: “Do You Love Me?” Album:Gently As I Go Release Date: August 18, 2023
In Their Words: “‘Do You Love Me?’ is a love song, short and sweet and perhaps a bit tongue–in–cheek, echoing desperate and anxious attempts from a hopeless romantic to their new love (and the universe) to get some certainty in very uncertain territory. This anxiety and excitement come together in a fun little package, trading places depending on the day or the moment, and sometimes it’s best to laugh at the silliness of it all, and realize that attempts to know or pretend to know by reading the signs are likely futile, but if nothing else, they’re fun to sing about. I love how Fernando’s illustrations in the video bring out the whimsy, playfulness, and sweetness of the lyrics.” – Caroline Cotter
In Their Words: “John Prine had a knack for folding mantras in to his songs. This song has a message that resonates deeply with my journey as a creative, father, and husband [and] that is so needed in this fitful world. ‘When love comes your way, you learn to say, I love you!'” – Ben Sollee
Photo Credit: Jessica Ebelhar Video Credit: Created by Josh Ford, FordFoto. Recorded at Mahonia Studios, Louisville, Kentucky.
(Editor’s Note:Open Mic is a new series from BGS with a simple premise – to remove all the filters between artist and audience and give musicians and creatives an Open Mic. With each installment, we’ll hold space for musicians to say whatever they’d like on any topic they like in any format that moves them most. It’s about facilitating real conversations and genuine insight with our roots music community.)
For our first edition of our new series, we set up an Open Mic for Americana newcomer Tommy Prine, an emerging singer-songwriter who walks a unique tightrope. The son of folk legend John Prine and an artist with a creative vision all his own, his work both builds on an established tradition and breaks free from the past – a contrast in full view at his December 2023 Grand Ole Opry debut.
Here, Prine reflects on his winding and not-at-all anticipated path into the artistic world – and into the ability to stand on his own creative feet.
Tommy Prine: “I have learned many things over the last few years, but the most important lesson I have learned is that no one gets anywhere without a lot of support.
“My wife, Savannah, is the embodiment of support. We decided in 2020 that we were going to give this music thing a shot, and by ‘shot’ I mean throwing every ounce of our hearts and spirit into making it work. She has taken on so many roles and worn a thousand hats (still does) during this music journey and it amazes me everyday how graceful and effortlessly she navigates the strange world that we operate in.
“My mom, Fiona, has been the guiding hand through so many new and scary events ultimately enabling me to gain the needed self-confidence to be an artist. She also played that role in raising me, and I owe a whole lot to her for any and all success in my life.
“My dad, John, set a standard of manhood that I will always strive to attain; gentleness, respect, and a lot of listening. As I walk the path that he walked, I learn more about him each day and his lessons unfold time and time again. Thank you for a lifetime of love and teachings, Dad.
“My brothers, Jody and Jack, have seen me in every shape and form I have ever taken on and been nothing but loving and understanding. They both have taught me so much about patience, wisdom and any and all cool music/movies. Without them I would be an entirely different person with different interests, and I couldn’t be prouder to be their little brother.
“My friends, who have been there with me since I was just a kid who played guitar by himself with the doors closed, all of you have influenced me to be a better and smarter man, and have never missed an opportunity to support me. For these reasons, I consider myself the luckiest man alive, and I feel undeserved of such incredible and loving company.
“When I reflect on my Opry debut, the word that comes to mind is acceptance. Acceptance into the community of artists that I admire so much, and acceptance of the life path that I chose which led me to the Grand Ole Opry. Growing up in Nashville, the Grand Ole Opry stage is the stage that you tell yourself, ‘One day, I’ll get there.’ When those thoughts crossed my mind as a teen, all it ever felt like was a dream. An unattainable dream barricaded by years of the most vulnerable and terrifying work I could imagine.
“Part of me knew who I had to be in order to get there, and the other part of me found that to be impossible. My journey in music has provided the personal growth I always wanted – and if all else fails, at least I found out who I really am. When an artist gets the opportunity to step into that circle, they light their own torch. On December 8th, 2023 I lit my own torch, and I intend to carry it to the end of my road.”
Photo Credit: Courtesy of the Grand Ole Opry, shot by Chris Hollo
Hanukkah has begun, advent calendars have barely three weeks left, and days will start getting longer when we reach winter solstice in merely 13 days – but who’s counting? As we lean further and further into the coziest, roots music-iest time of year, we’re rounding up our favorite seasonal and holiday albums, tracks, and shows each week on BGS Wraps. Scroll to find this list in playlist form, plus don’t miss our Classic Holiday Album Recommendation of the week.
We’ll be back next Friday with more BGS Wraps! Until then enjoy some hot cider or some eggnog and some delightfully festive bluegrass, country, and roots music.
Hayes Carll and Melissa Carper, “Christmas in Prison”
A perennial favorite penned by none other than John Prine, “Christmas in Prison” is a rare country Christmas song that can be sung year-round. Like your favorite holiday movie that’s actually not specifically a holiday movie – Die Hard? Little Women? – this is a song so classic, so iconic, that it demands recognition across the calendar and not merely in December. Hayes Carll and Melissa Carper join together on this brand new rendition and they do the song justice, for sure.
Joy Clark, “Gumbo Christmas”
As most holidays are, Christmas is its own familial and cultural melting pot, and guitarist and singer-songwriter Joy Clark highlights her own New Orleans traditions with “Gumbo Christmas.” It’s a song with a recipe both literal and figurative, a combination all of the best holiday dishes know intimately. That Big Easy horn section is fit to carry us into 2024.
CMA Country Christmas (December 14, ABC; December 15, Hulu and Disney+)
The queen of Christmas in Nashville, Amy Grant, is co-hosting this year’s CMA Country Christmas TV special on ABC with none other than Trisha Yearwood. With performances by The War & Treaty, Ashley McBryde, Jon Pardi, reigning CMA Entertainer of the Year Lainey Wilson, and more. Tune in on Thursday, December 14 for the live program, or watch the following day – and throughout the season – on Hulu and Disney+. For those of us who won’t make Vince Gill and Grant’s annual holiday residency at the Ryman in Nashville, this show will be an excellent consolation prize.
Rose Cousins, “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm”
There’s almost no better artist to turn to for delicious melancholia than Rose Cousins. Her new holiday single, “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm,” demonstrates this fact and then some. Winter songs without a specific religious or traditional bent are too rare, so we especially love this track for its “agnosticism” and relatability. Why care how much it may storm, if you’ve got your love to keep you warm? We hope you are surrounded by love this holiday season, and however lonesome or joyous you’re feeling this year, Cousins’ voice will envelope you like a toasty hug.
Bridget Kearney, “Don’t Think About the Polar Bear”
A vibey and meditative new track from Lake Street Dive bassist Bridget Kearney is another holiday track of the Die Hard sort – not demonstrably seasonal, but it works so we’re accepting it with open arms into our wintry celebration. The accompanying animated music video is whimsical enough to be a fitting addition to any lineup with The Grinch, Rudolph, and all of your other favorite Christmas animated TV specials. If your intention is to not think about someone this holiday season, you might just find them wandering across your mind – so don’t think about the polar bear, instead.
The Kody Norris Show, “Mountain City Christmas”
The territory surrounding Mountain City, Tennessee, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee, Western North Carolina, and Southwest Virginia is home to most of the farms that grow most of the Christmas trees for the eastern seaboard of the United States. It’s more than fitting, then, to take this nostalgic and magical Kody Norris Show-led journey through the picturesque counties they call home. What’s more bluegrass than singing about snow, home, family, faith, and rhyming “there” with “Christmas carol”?
Larry & Joe, “Mi Burrito Sabanero”
Bluegrass banjo player and fiddler Joe Troop and harpist, multi-instrumentalist Larry Bellorín are Larry & Joe. Their new holiday single, “Mi Burrito Sabanero,” is a funny, raucous, and enjoyable version of a quintessential Latin American holiday tune written by Venezuelan harpist and composer Hugo Blanco. Much of Troop’s work connects the dots between Latin folk music and American roots music, crafting idiosyncratic amalgamations often expected to be more disparate and dissonant than they really are. For this track, Bellorín set aside the harp and picked up the cuatro, with Troop adding twin fiddles and banjo in another instance of remarkable latingrass fusion.
Maddie & Tae, We Need Christmas
Maddie & Tae, of “Girl in a Country Song” fame, recently released an extended cut of their 2020 holiday EP, We Need Christmas, adding three new tracks – each classic Christmas carols – to the fan favorite collection. Both women are now married and starting families and there’s a confidence and ease they’ve grown into at this phase of their careers. Easily some of the most interesting pop country being made, and certainly an excellent holiday manifestation of the form.
Brenda Lee, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”
For the first time in her 60+ year career Brenda Lee has scored a Number 1 hit on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart with her truly unforgettable holiday single, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” How she supplanted Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas,” we’ll never know, but we are so glad for Lee that she’s notched this incredible milestone even at this late stage in her lifelong music-making. She first recorded the iconic track as a thirteen-year-old and in an emotional video posted by Billboard and to her social media, you can tell she never imagined this song would be the gem it is in the crown of her music career. Congratulations, Brenda Lee!
Kaitlyn Raitz, “River”
Cellist, composer, and arranger Kaitlyn Raitz released a stunning, instrumental string-centered cover of Joni Mitchell’s “River” a handful of weeks ago, a timely tune drop for those of us struggling to navigate the holidays without Mitchell’s catalog available on a certain streaming service. Lush and romantic, Raitz’s cut of the track is high concept while down to earth, like a perfect Christmas Eve program at a local church, stained glass bookended by poinsettias and candles. A must-add for your instrumental holiday playlists or perfect to soundtrack your cookie icing party or frenzied gift swaps.
Matt Rogers, Have You Heard of Christmas?
BGS Wraps would be simply incomplete without a laugh-so-hard-you’re-crying option, supplied here by comedian Matt Rogers’ holiday outting, Have You Heard of Christmas? With guests such as Muna (swoon-a), Bowen Yang (Rogers’ co-host of the hit podcast, Las Culturistas, known from SNL), and Leland, Have You Heard of Christmas is pure chaos, absolutely unhinged. Melodrama meets the chronically online. Joe’s Pub, dragged through 54 Below. When you’re offered aux this year at your holiday gatherings, put this one on. We dare you.
Andy Thorn, High Country Holiday
Banjoist Andy Thorn was known as Leftover Salmon’s banjo player, before a video of him serenading a wild fox went mega viral and eclipsed all other entries on his resumé. Thorn – who is a self-professed Christmas fanatic – has recently released a brand new holiday album, High Country Holiday, drawing on inspiration from his Colorado backyard and his musical community to put together a bevy of carols and one bespoke original, “The Bells of Boulder.” Add it to your stack of bluegrass Christmas records! It’s destined to become a classic in that category.
Tim and James, A Tim and James Christmas
Los Angeles-based string duo Tim and James – Tim Reynolds and James Spaite – have followed up their popular debut, Lemon Tree, with a holiday EP, A Tim and James Christmas and it’s already a favorite of ours. These simple duets feel fully realized, even while they remain contained, and draw on folk, new acoustic, and chambergrass influences. The kernel within Tim and James’ music – that took their songs from beginning as a regular Tuesday collaboration to tens of thousands of streams – is on full display. There’s something entrancing about this bare bones, four-song collection.
Our Classic Holiday Album Recommendation of the Week: Béla Fleck & the Flecktones, Jingle All the Way
Each year we are reminded of the sheer genius of Béla Fleck & the Flecktones’ Jingle All the Way. It’s a Christmas album we return to again and again and we know we aren’t the only ones – it was chosen by O magazine (yes, Oprah’s publication) as 2008’s Best Christmas Album and it peaked at Number 1 on the contemporary jazz charts. Béla and the Flecktones’ cultural impact was certainly solidified by the time Jingle All the Way had released, but this album – perhaps more than any other music by the group in the 21st Century – cemented their broad, far-reaching influence.
Photo Credit: Joy Clark by Nkechi Chibueze; Rose Cousins by Lindsay Duncan; Andy Thorn courtesy of the artist.
In advance of the release of Vincent Neil Emerson’s latest, critically-acclaimed album, The Golden Crystal Kingdom – which dropped on November 10 – BGS moderated a conversation between VNE and his friend and peer, country & western singer-songwriter and song-interpreter Charley Crockett.
Both artists cut their teeth in music venues in Texas a decade ago. In our conversation, they tell the story of how they came to know each other and discuss ways they protect each other within the business. They talk about covering and cutting each other’s songs and the importance of telling their truths.
Emerson’s new album, produced by Shooter Jennings, veers his sound toward warm ’60s rock and folk influences. He opens up to Charley and BGS about its creation process and what is on the horizon for him.
Charley Crockett: What’s up, Vincent?
Vincent Neil Emerson: What’s up, my boy?
CC: Another day, another dollar.
BGS: Tell me where you both are in the world right now.
VNE: I’m in Asheville, North Carolina, right now, at an Airbnb.
CC: I’m up here in San Luis Valley in Southern Colorado.
Both really nice places to be in the fall.
VNE: You ain’t wrong.
Can you give us a little bit of context about your relationship, where you know each other from, and how long you have been working together?
VNE: Charley, you wanna go?
CC: Oh man, I always tell that story; I wanna hear it from you.
VNE: I met Charley in Deep Ellum. We were playing around town, playing a lot of shows around there and Fort Worth. That was over 10 years ago, maybe?
CC: I was trying to think about it this morning. I think it had to be ’13 or ’14.
VNE: That’s crazy, man.
CC: He remembers it being at Adair Saloon; I remember it being at the Freeman. It really don’t matter, ’cause I’m sure it was both places.
VNE: I’m sure we went and had a drink at Adairs or something like that.
CC: I remember I walked up on him and said, “I like all them Justin Townes Earle songs.” And he said, “I only played one.” I always liked what he was doing, and he used to play solo and do the guitar pools up at Magnolia Motor Lounge all the time. He’d be up there smoking a cigarette, picking through them songs like Townes Van Zandt, and I thought, “Oh lord have mercy, this boy is a force to be reckoned with.”
VNE: Man, I felt the same way as soon as I heard you, brother. I remember a couple of nights I saw you at the Freeman with this band. You had a bunch of guys up on that tiny little stage, and you were just ripping through all these songs, taking all these old honky tonk songs and flipping them on their head and turning them into blues and vice versa. I always thought that was so cool, man.
CC: I don’t remember that well, but I guess you’re right. In those days, every gig we played for both me and Vincent, we ended up getting booked by the same folks, or they were all standing together in some bar, no matter if it was Ft. Worth or Nashville or Los Angeles. One way or another, all them same business folks been standing pretty close to me and Vincent. And that’s the truth.
Well, that’s convenient if you like to work together, I guess. Charley, do you have questions you want to dig in on?
CC: You know, Erin, I don’t even know what the hell we are doing?
Let’s talk about the release of Vincent’s new album.
CC: Well, let me just do this then. Everything he’s been putting out with Shooter [Jennings], like everything else he’s ever done…If you sit there looking at Vincent and he surprises you, it’s like, “Oh damn, I didn’t know old boy was gonna do that.” The very next thing he does, it just happens again — every single time. I remember when he was playing “7 Come 11” way before anybody gave a damn about him and was looking out for his interests or his career. He had all them songs in his pocket way before anybody had ideas or designs on him and his business. I’ve said for a long time that “7 Come 11” is one of the best folk songs written out of Texas in 20 years. Remember Central Track, Vincent?
VNE: Yeah, they did a lot of write-ups on music.
CC: I will never forget that stuff when you did that record and what you were doing live. Erin, he was playing for 50 bucks and a case of Lone Star in them dive bars in Fort Worth, you know? He was living in a 10×10 room. He was hardly ever even standing inside of the damn joint.
A handful of us showed up at the same time, and we are all moving on our own paths, but we’ve all stayed pretty close, or we damn sure weave it together quite a bit even if we get way out there, you know, in the territories, we always come back to each other. I think I met Leon Bridges right around the same time that I met Vincent. I met him in Deep Ellum, too. There is a guy who plays guitar with me now named Alexis Sanchez. He had a band back then, and he was playing at Club Dada there for some little festival, and Leon Bridges was standing there in a trench coat and a bowler hat. I venture to guess that me and Leon and Vincent met each other damn near about the same time. There were a lot of other folks like that. Ten years later, especially for some Texas guys, you know, we’ve all grown a lot, and I think we have always supported each other and loved each others’ music. That’s only grown, and Vincent is standing there as one of the premier, original, authentic talents to come out of Texas since the turn of the damn century. I’m not blowing smoke. I’m just stating what is already happening.
VNE: Man, that is high praise. I appreciate you sayin’ that, Charley.
CC: Well, they want all this shit to write about it, but that’s just the truth. He was playing in Fort Worth and like I said, playing for all that low money. They were calling him Lefty. Why did they call you Lefty? I figured it was because you had a black eye or something.
VNE: Yeah, I had my left eye knocked out of the socket one time, and the nickname stuck for a while.
CC: I remember they wrote about you pretty salaciously there in the Fort Worth Weekly. I know a thing or two about that myself.
VNE: I would say it was because they were trying to sell papers, but it was a free publication.
CC: Shit, they are selling advertisements. I think the Dallas Observer is still doing that to me.
He was playing them bars, we were playing them bars. I don’t know which one of us is which, but more often than not, he sure seems like if I’m Waylon, he’s Willie. I have felt like that for a long time. You could change the names. I think about this stuff a lot. The business folks, it is always hard to tell what they are doing, but you can be sure they are rolling dice and betting and gambling on folks. It ends up being, a guy like Vincent that somebody like me can lean on a lot more. We can trust those guys, and I’m real happy with who I’m working with, and I’m sure Vincent is, too. It is the other artists living life for the song that gets us through. I know I feel like that about Vincent, and I feel like that about a lot of other guys I don’t know as well as him.
Kind of like Johnny Cash said, “We are all family, even though some of us barely know each other.” I think it is because we can see each other and know we are in the same boat and in that way, care more for each other than other people would. I think it is pretty serious. It is life and death.
VNE: That’s a good feeling to not feel so alone in that way and have people out there and doing things similar to you. They probably think a lot of the same thoughts. Me and you are good buddies, Charley, and I feel that way, too. I feel like some guys out there like Tyler Childers – I really respect him, and I feel like he is in the same boat as us. I’m not as well known as you guys, but I think none of that really matters. I think what it comes down to is that we are all songwriters trying to make our own stories happen and be true to ourselves and honest to the world. I think that the reason we can relate to each other is the same reason the fans can relate. Honesty will cut through anything and bring people together.
CC: One way or another, them folks we are selling tickets to, they know.
VNE: You can’t fake the funk, I guess.
CC: Eventually, it comes through. Speaking of Tyler Childers, we ended up on the same plane flying from Nashville to Austin recently… I was there for the Country Music Hall of Fame induction and I didn’t want to go. I get real antisocial and want to hide out from everybody and shit, and I went to Nashville kicking and screaming. Tanya Tucker was getting inducted to the Hall of Fame with a couple of other people. Patty Loveless and Bob McDill, who I wasn’t that familiar with. I had thought that he’d written the Jimmy C. Newman song, “Louisiana Saturday Night”, which I know real well. To be honest with you, it is the only reason I agreed to go out there, ’cause I love singing that song. I made a lot of money writing songs off of that song, so I figured I owed whoever the songwriter was. Long story short, there in the last week, I found out it was a different “Louisiana Saturday Night,” regularly mistakenly attributed to Bob McDill cause he wrote a totally separate song called “Louisiana Saturday Night” that Mel McDaniel had a big hit with, and that’s the one that goes,
“Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow Kick off your shoes and you throw ’em on the floor Dance in the kitchen ’til the mornin’ light Louisiana Saturday night”
That was a big ol hit, right Vincent? He did “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On,” and a bunch of shit like that that I just didn’t realize. My naive, ignorant ass goes up there to Nashville kicking and screaming, and that’s how I feel. A horse gets led to water or something like that. I saw Tanya get inducted. I damn near built my career off of my version of “Jamestown Ferry” when I was younger, and I realized that she had blazed that trail for me, and I had not shown her enough respect. I really hadn’t. Same thing with Bob McDill. All those songs he wrote and the advice he gave in his speech, and my dumbass could really shut up and pay attention to these folks.
Then I ran into Tyler going from there. He was flying to Austin to do a John Prine tribute. That’s how it is. When I see Tyler, I’m on a plane. When I see Vincent, it is at Monterey Fairgrounds. We are ships passing in the night. All these guys like Tyler, Colter [Wall], Leon, Vincent. Whenever I see them, they got a big light around them, and it is shining. You just want it to keep shining for them, and for myself, to keep it going,
I don’t know exactly where you want to go with this, Erin, but I’m excited about this record. Shooter was telling me about your songs and offered to send them and I was like, “No, I ain’t gonna do that. I wanna be like everyone else.” I wanna watch this thing get rolled out, and I wanna be excited. I’m looking forward to going through the songs.
Vincent, can you tell us about working with Shooter on this record?
VNE: I met Shooter a few times. Me and Charley were at this festival in Iowa hanging out, and Shooter came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d met him before at another festival but I’d never talked to him. He turned me around and said, “Hey man, I really like that thing you did with Rodney Crowell.” He paid me a lot of compliments, and since then, we talked, and when it came time to make another record, Shooter was the first guy I thought of. I thought it would be such a cool idea to work with him on an album. One thing about him is he really is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he is a genuine fan of music. He’s trying to make cool things happen. I’m so lucky I got to work with him on it. That is the big takeaway from the whole thing for me was making a real good friend like that and meeting someone who gets me excited about songwriting and about making an album and making music in general.
Since Charley cut “7 Come 11” and you cut one of Charley’s songs for this record, can you talk about what prompted “Time of the Cottonwood Trees” winding up in this pile of songs?
VNE: Oh man – that song. Me and you were on tour together for three months, was it last summer? We did a bunch of dates, and we were on the road a long time, and I was listening to Charley do that song every night. It was a brand new song that hadn’t come out on his record yet. I got to hear him sing that song every night by himself, and I just think it is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It is one of my favorites from you, Charley. I think it is a fine example of songwriting. When it came time to make this album, I always wanted to pay tribute to you and cut one of your songs on a record because you cut “7 Come 11.” That really ties back into that whole Willie and Waylon and all those old timers who cut each others’ songs and lifted each other up like that. I just wanted to pay tribute to you, and that’s why I put it on the album.
CC: Shit, I appreciate it. I’ll be excited to get the check in the mail. You surprised the hell out of me with that one, you really did. I’ve always wanted people to cut my songs. Sometimes, I think I’d be better off that way. I have so many. I’ve always cut a lot of songs that weren’t mine, probably about half of them. And I got about a 250-song catalog of published shit. I would guess about 40-50% are songs I didn’t write. I feel like I’ve caught a lot of heat for that. People have an idea about me that I never wrote a single song. I think that’s because we live in an era where, like what Vincent was talking about, where all those folks back in the day, across genres, and it wasn’t just country it was pop, folk, soul, R&B. It was everything. Everyone was cutting each other’s songs. I just really think that to write a great song, you have to learn great songs from other people.
You have to watch out for these publishers these days. They’ll just put any piece of junk out as long as they’ve got control over it. They figured out they can make money selling junk. If you can make more money than ever before selling junk and you aren’t principled, and you aren’t that close to the music, well, they don’t see the reason not to do it that way. I think it feels like a renaissance.
VNE: Specifically in the genre of country music, there is a lot of junk out there. I don’t want to put anyone down. Most of the time, I just try to ignore whatever I don’t like. I think that’s the best way to go about it. I think there is room at the table for everybody, whatever you are into. I just think it is so cool that Sturgill and Charley and Colter and Tyler, all these other guys that are out here putting out real, honest-to-goodness songwriter songs. And not just that, but real country music. It doesn’t matter if it is your song or someone else’s; if you are telling that story honestly, I think that’s great. I’ve always appreciated you for that, Charley. I think you are a great interpreter of songs, and I think you are an even better songwriter, man.
CC: Damn, I’m glad I talked to y’all this morning. I feel better.
I’m glad that we are talking about cutting songs because that is such a huge part of country music, interpreting other people’s songs or reinterpreting a song. It feels like that art was lost in the past 20 years or so and it is having a resurgence. I’m excited that you guys are at the forefront of that, because great songs have more than one life. And it is an opportunity for songwriters to make more money.
VNE: I think it is one of the greatest compliments that a songwriter could receive – to have an artist who they love and respect cut one of their songs.
CC: There is no question about that. That is the best feeling.
VNE: It is, cause you know that your songs has legs and can go places that you can’t, which is a great feeling.
CC: It really is. It is such a political world, and it is so divided. There is a lot of pressure on people that you step out there into the great mirror of society, and the more out there in front of the public that you get, there is a mirror that starts projecting on you, and it is tough to deal with. It is hard to know what to do, but the thing about it is – being able to write honest songs and tell the truth in your writing; that is the most rewarding feeling. That is why I always look forward to what Vincent is doing. There aren’t a whole lot of people that I anticipate their new works as much as him, if anybody really. That’s the whole deal. You look over, and he’s writing better and better, and it makes me want to write better, too.
Speaking of, Vincent, can you talk a bit about your writing process for this record?
VNE: I kind of pieced together songs over time. Sometimes they jump out real fast; sometimes it takes a while. And thanks for saying that Charley, brother. Damn.
CC: I’ve been saying it for 10 years.
VNE: That’s kept me going a lot of times and I don’t think you realize that. These songs – damn, what was I saying?
CC: You were saying sometimes they come quick, sometimes they come slow.
VNE: I’m very influenced by the music that I’m listening to and that is why I try to be real careful about what I listen to. I think it is like if I’m making a smoothie. I gotta put certain ingredients in my brain, and it comes out me on the other end, hopefully. I was listening to a lot of Neil Young and Steven Stills and David Crosby. A lot of the ’60s rock and roll and a lot of Bob Dylan stuff. That’s just where I was in my headspace, so I was taking in all that. I try to put it all together to make it my own. That’s where I was at when I was making this album.
By the way, I’m excited about this rodeo we are playing together, Charley.
CC: Oh shit yeah! At the Virgin Theater there? Yeah man, I’m excited about it, too. Thanks for doing it.
VNE: Thanks for having me on.
CC: When it comes to money and shit like that, just any time, whatever you gotta do to make it work cause I wanna keep playing with you as much as we can and build up. I’ve played in some arenas recently, and I really don’t like it. I don’t know if country music belongs in arenas. And I just mean opening. I can’t sell tickets to no damn arena. And I take a cue from Colter cause he and Tyler and them boys, they could be in arenas all day long if they wanted to be. I would rather play rodeos and municipal auditoriums and really special theaters and stack ‘em up. I think we need to get a goddamned Dripping Springs reunion tour going. A real one.
VNE: Man, that’d be great.
CC: You know what I mean, just do some of our own shit. My aunt and uncle and a bunch of people who haven’t been out to see me play in a long time are coming out to Vegas. I used to live with my uncle when I was a kid in Louisiana and Mississippi and shit. He’s gonna flip his shit when he sees you.
VNE: I can’t wait, man, I’ve heard so many stories about him.
CC: He’s wild. We gonna show these folks what country music actually sounds like. They might not be able to tell who is left or right. Nahhh I’m just kidding it is a bunch of cool people.
Thank y’all for letting me be a part of this. I’m just happy to help out or talk about this. I’m real excited about the album for real. The imagery in your writing, man, it’s like everything you write is getting more and more vivid. You paint such a picture. I’ll stop blowing smoke up your ass.
I’m gonna get back on the trail and Vincent, I’ll talk to you soon.
VNE: Thank you for doing this brother, I appreciate you.
(Editor’s Note: Fiddler, songwriter, and creator Libby Rodenbough writes this personal essay on her friendship with and admiration for BGS Artist of the Month, Alice Gerrard, accompanied by her original photos taken for Gerrard’s new album, Sun to Sun.)
I remember first hearing Ola Belle Reed’s “Undone in Sorrow” when I was 19 or 20. I felt like a portal had been opened unto a world that had existed around me my whole life, unseen and unheard. I grew up in North Carolina going to visit my mom’s family in Madison County, along the Blue Ridge, where any of the graveyards on the mountain sides with their little mounds of clay outside my backseat window might have been the one from Ola Belle’s song.
That portal didn’t open for me in the mountains of North Carolina, though – it was in Chicago, at the Old Town School of Folk Music, an institution that had come out of the ‘50s folk revival. I was big on Pete Seeger and John Prine at that time in my life, and had found out my dad had a cousin with a spare room in Chicago, so I went on a little pilgrimage during a recess from college.
It was there that I learned my first old time fiddle tunes, belting the refrain “down in North Carolina” from “Waterbound” at the school’s open jam while the Chicago winter dumped three feet of snow outside. It was there I first learned the rudiments – very rude in my case – of clawhammer banjo. It was also there that I first heard a left hook of a song called “A Few Old Memories” by Hazel Dickens, which appeared on her 1973 duo record with Alice Gerrard, Hazel & Alice.
I went home from Chicago with new eyes and ears. Places I’d known forever became newly populated with epic figures, recast in the light of 200-year-old narratives. My first semester back in school, I was in an introductory folklore course taught by Mike Taylor (of Hiss Golden Messenger) and he started talking about his friend Alice Gerrard, who lived a town over in Durham. I was fairly well tangled up in time and place at that point – even the deceased people I’d been learning about were brand new to me – so I had to blink a few times to digest that she was the same person singing harmony on “A Few Old Memories.”
Today, 10-ish years later, I sit with Alice in preparation for writing this piece and she tells me about driving Ola Belle Reed in her Dodge van on tours through the South in the late ‘60s. She’s my oldest friend (nearly 90), and all competition lags behind her years pretty pathetically. She also makes a lot of the people I talk to seem boring. We’re in the same business: We sing songs and play shows and make records. She’s been doing it a lot longer, and I think she knows about five times as many songs.
Hanging out with Alice helps me understand why she wanted to be friends with people like Elizabeth Cotten and Luther Davis, who were elderly when she met them. She heard the way they played and sang and had to talk to them about their lives. “They knew exactly who they were,” she says. For a young person who had moved across the country from Oregon to Washington, D.C., without maintaining much contact with home, dropped out of college, and had four children, that self-knowledge was aspirational. Though their rootedness in their communities was part of what drew her to them, she didn’t think of them as avatars of bygone primitive ways of life, or as characters in a play – they were people. Elizabeth Cotten was somewhat guarded, but over years traveling and playing together, she told Alice about indignities she had suffered as a domestic worker and as a Black female folk performer, and about subtle acts of defiance she had worked into both vocations. Luther Davis talked about how lonely it was to get old and run out of witnesses to your own life.
Alice is likewise unafraid of being a person. She’ll tell you straightforwardly that she was unprepared to be a mother, that it was essentially impossible to pursue a music career – which was something she knew she wanted for herself – and still give adequate time to her kids. We commiserate about music industry bullshit and engage in light shit-talking about the idea of showmanship.
She’s usually wearing one of her collection of t-shirts that pertain to her dog Polly’s agility training facility (“Fast and Furryous”). This past March, when I took these photos of her to use for promotion of her new album, Sun to Sun, we went through her closet together and dug out some gems, including a bedazzled commemorative t-shirt from Obama’s inauguration.
I have no training in photography – I shoot film because I enjoy the feeling of not really knowing how it works. We went to Duke Gardens in Durham, where we both live, on a week when the cherry trees had popcorned into glory. Alice looks radiant in the halo of those glowing blooms. But I also love the photos where she’s at home, standing in front of the brick retaining wall around her front yard, before she realized she still had her Apple Watch on. The sky was so blue that day, her white hair incandescent. She looks like she knows something you don’t, but in a warm way, like she knows you’ll get it eventually.
Alice is unafraid to treat a song like it can handle a little handling. She knows that songs are alive and she’s interested in being a part of their lives, not their memorialization. She smiles talking about how, in an old John Cohen film, the Madison County ballad singer Dillard Chandler starts a song in a key around here (she holds her hand at her waistline) and ends it here (she raises her hand up level with her temple). She’s delighted by the particularity of the human touch. She prefers singing voices with a bit of weirdness over purely pretty ones. Talking about Carter Stanley’s high whine, she says, “Whatever was eating on him from the inside, it was showing up in the way he sang. Nina Simone, the same way.” She tells me what a struggle it is to teach that kind of feeling to people accustomed to singing prettily. “If you’re trying to get somebody out of the soft, breathy voice, you say, ‘Look, your kid is running out into the street and you have to call your kid back.’ You don’t say,” — she coos — “‘Heyyyyy Brian, get back here.’ You say, ‘BRIAN! GET BACK HERE!’”
Whenever I’ve played music with her, Alice seems to lean into what people at the Old Town School liked – actually, loved – to call “the folk process;” she lets arrangements evolve as the spirit of the universe sees fit. I’m lucky she’s not a stickler for tradition, even traditions she could write encyclopedias about, because my fiddling style is distinctly unmoored. I was a half-rate Suzuki classical violin student growing up and then at the Old Town School I learned how to accompany folk singers on songs with three or fewer chords. I came home and started going to the old-time jam at Nightlight Bar & Club in Chapel Hill, where the jam leaders were American Studies PhD candidates who also grew up learning fiddle tunes from their hometown octogenarians. Some of my friends started a band called Mipso that was flirtatious with bluegrass and asked me to join, but I told them up front I didn’t know any licks. (They didn’t seem bothered by that.) I’ve since learned a few licks, and I would rather play an old time tune any day of the week than do almost anything else, but I never could sit still long enough to do what Alice calls “holding the line” — keeping and caring for the tradition.
I’m indebted to, and grateful in my heart for, people who do that work. I may roll my eyes at gatekeeping, but it’s more than wide-eyed would-be fiddle players at the gate; it’s the whole monster of monolithic, capitalist cultural imperialism, chomping down on everything small or strange. Songs can, and do, disappear, like cultures and forests, and not just by inertia but by clear-cutting. A lot of days I feel self-conscious about whatever it is I’m doing instead of holding that line. When I listen to Alice tell stories about the many singers and players she’s known over the years, though, I remind myself that they each have a distinct relationship with tradition – and with what it means to be an artist.
For a long time there’s been a divide, rhetorical and sometimes actual, between “the folk” and “the folkies,” which maybe means country people versus city people, or maybe people who grew up in a given musical tradition versus those who came to it later. Alice and I both fall into the latter category, though she’s had considerably sharper focus since her initiation. I’d rather replay a 10-second clip of a Mark O’Connor fiddle solo at one-quarter speed forty-seven times in a row than try to examine that dichotomy in any more detail at this moment, but I did spend a lot of my undergraduate days thinking about authenticity and who’s entitled to do what with old songs. Alice has often found herself among people who look at it from an academic angle – her ex-husband, Mike Seeger, came from a folklorist family – but her view remains that the compulsion to define and categorize is basically academia trying to justify itself. I don’t take that as bitter or glib, I just think she hasn’t found it necessary, in her personal relationship with the music she loves, to try to determine who gets to claim it. Or maybe, for Alice, the claim is in the singing. Talking about what makes a voice “authentic” (a word that sends a chill down my spine), she paraphrases Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart from 1967 in his definition of pornography: “I know it when I see it.”
As we clink the ice around our $7 decaf specialty iced lattes, Alice tells me about a song she’d just heard, a haunting falsetto voice with nylon string guitar, in the opening scene of Pedro Almodóvar’s new short film, Strange Way of Life. After some Google sleuthing, she identified it as a recording by the Brazilian artist Caetano Veloso (in fact, the movie is named for it – “Estranha Forma de Vida.”) She’s head over heels for this song, itching to go home and dig into Veloso’s catalog. If they ever meet, I know she will have great questions for him, the type of questions that make a person believe songs must do real work in this world.
I ask her if she thinks of her music as having “a purpose.” “Not really,” she says. But she goes on, “I want people to hear what I hear in this music.”
In my view, that’s an altruistic goal, because it’s clear that whatever it is Alice hears in the music, it gives her life its very marrow. I admire the decades she has devoted to learning and documenting traditional music, but what I aspire to most is the way she still loves a song — viscerally, instinctively, with gusto. That’s what makes a line worth holding.
“There was something about the music, the quality of the voices,” she says, recalling first hearing Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music. “There’s so much beauty in it, it’s like, God, yeah.”
I had that “yeah” moment when I heard “Undone in Sorrow” and “A Few Old Memories” – and now, Sun to Sun. I hope to be saying “yeah” like that about songs for the rest of my life.
Rattled by the 2016 election and its aftermath, singer-songwriter Iris DeMent did what folk singers are supposed to do: She picked up her pen. But it took until February 2023 for Workin’ on a World, her seventh album, to reach listeners — and it might not have happened at all if her stepdaughter Pieta Brown hadn’t intervened. Brown (whose father is DeMent’s husband, Greg Brown), had cowritten “I Won’t Ask You Why” and “The Sacred Now” with DeMent and knew several tracks had been recorded before the project hit a pandemic-induced pause. When Brown inquired about the album’s status, DeMent confessed she’d stalled out and given up.
Brown asked to hear what DeMent and co-producers Richard Bennett and Jim Rooney had recorded, then declared an album did, indeed, exist, and helped shepherd it to completion. Then she joined DeMent on tour, opening a series of dates that included a March stop in Austin at which DeMent introduced her new work to a sold-out audience — who were particularly amused when she sang “Goin’ Down to Sing in Texas,” an oh-so-sharp skewering of open-carry laws, male privilege, one-percenters, racism and “war criminals who get to walk around free/like that president who lied about WMD.” (The Chicks, who famously called out that president, earn her thanks).
DeMent boldly speaks her mind throughout Workin’ on a World, mixing indictments of oppression, greed and the cult of personality with praise for righteous “Warriors of Love.” She also ruminates on love and loss, and addresses God frequently — not surprising for the youngest of a 14-child family raised in the Pentecostal church. But instead of drearily lamenting a world in turmoil or patly claiming prayer is the answer, she strives to induce hope. When she sings “workin’ on a world I may never see,” she’s reminding activists to keep fighting for future generations.
Back home in Iowa several days after her performance, DeMent discussed the facets of a career that took flight 31 years ago with her debut album, Infamous Angel. Two Grammy nominations, one Americana Music Association Trailblazer Award and dozens of collaborations later, she still likes to let the mystery be, so to speak, when it comes to certain aspects of her songwriting process. But when it comes to inspirations and emotions, she spoke just as she does in her songs — with honesty and openness.
BGS: You’ve said this album came about because you wanted to cut yourself a path through the wilderness of despair. Was there any other sense of mission involved?
DeMent: Initially, it was just a level of despair that was not sustainable, and I had to apply myself to something constructive. Beyond that, it was like, I want to fix things. I care about people here; I care about my children, I care about your children, I care about the world. So I want to see it be improved. And I can’t think of a more useful way to spend my time. The best way I know how to do it is to write songs. Because I know from my own experience, songs can energize me and give me hope and confidence to go do my job. I feel like the best thing I can do is contribute to other people — whatever their job is, some inspiring music can help ’em get it done, as we know.
I went through a phase; I did a lot of political, local things — which is incredibly important, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t do both; I noticed that. They’re two different sides of the brain. And I was either doing the phone banks and all that business, or I was gonna be a writer/singer. At some point, that became clear to me. A few people helped me figure that out: “Iris, that’s your gift, stop underrating it and go.” So I just went back into the songs, and as a result, there’s this record. It would not have happened otherwise. I decided to go back to believing in the value of singing some songs.
Did you originally have a target date for an album, or were you just kind of hoping to do something and then Pieta said, “Here it is”?
I think when I was a lot younger and just coming out of the chute, I probably had targets then, because there’s kind of that thing when you’re young; you’ve got to get your ball rolling. I certainly felt that. I had a really intense sense of momentum and urgency, and I don’t think you’ve got to be a songwriter to have that; it’s a time in life thing, in my opinion. And I’m glad to have had that. It was its own, exciting, awesome, wonderful time. But that started shifting, and rather than fight with that, I accepted it. And I’m really glad I did, because I feel like my music’s gotten better; my singing has gotten better.
I feel like allowing myself to relax a little bit, to trust that the songs will evolve as they need to as long as I keep showing up often enough, in my opinion, has worked. A lot of people who talk to me are really focused on these gap periods and all, which to me are not gap periods. It’s the time it took, plain and simple. There’s a lot of records out there; there’s a lot of music. I’m not interested in taking up somebody’s heart and mind space unless I really feel like I have something to say that warrants that.
If I were thinking in terms of a career, I’d have put out a lot more records. Because I’ll build up an audience, then I won’t put out a record for six years. A handful of people stay with me and a lot of others drift off somewhere else. That’s how that works. If I’d even put out a mediocre record here and there, I think I would have kept a lot of folks. People, if they don’t hear from you, they forget about you, by and large. But I’ve been really fortunate that I’ve had enough people who haven’t that I can still go out and play.
I posted a picture from your show on social media, and so many people responded, it was an obvious indicator that they have not forgotten you. Your sold-out show was another. That must be heartening.
Oh, sure. When you feel like you’ve got something to say that you believe somebody needs to hear, it’s a wonderful feeling when that actually happens. I’ll admit it’d be discouraging if I went out there and the rooms were half full. That said, that has never stopped me before, and never will. I’ve always thought that way. I used to get this vision when I started out; I’d conjure up a desperate person, and I have a model in my mind of who this desperate person is, which I won’t get into. But I conjure a picture of them. They walk in, they sit on the back seat, and I’m singing to that person. Nobody knows them. Nobody knows their name. They’re gonna wander out that door, but they’re gonna take something from that room that they needed, and it’s my job to give it to ’em. Yeah, my feelings and my ego and all that stuff come into play, but I’ve gotten really good at overriding all that and thinking of the mission that I’m on and the job that I have to do that isn’t about numbers. It’s about hearts; individuals. I gotta go there with ’em and let the rest go. That rest of it is just not my business.
The list of albums and tracks you’ve contributed to is really astonishing, but you’re probably best known for your duets with John Prine. How did those tend to come about?
John wrote liner notes on my first record. I became acquainted with him through Jim Rooney, who was friends with John, long before I met John. And then when my first record came out, John asked me to go out and open for him, which, of course, I gladly did. Right up till the end, I would always do a couple of shows a year with him, at least. Did quite a lot of shows throughout the years prior to that. And one thing led to another. We got to record those duets together. I just loved John like crazy, and I think he loved me. Singing with him was its own unique thing that’ll never happen again, and I’ll miss that forever.
You cite quite a list of heroes on this album. Did you have to leave many out?
Always. There’s always people. “Warriors of Love,” I could have made it 10 verses long.
How did you choose?
Oh, I couldn’t even begin to explain that. It’s just, you’re sitting there trying to get somewhere and your gut says, “I think this is the direction to go.” Obviously, the people I chose are more universally known. And that helps because you don’t have to write, “here’s the history of this person,” so you can bring people up to speed. Most people are far less familiar with (pro-Palestinian activist) Rachel Corrie than (U.S. Sen.) John Lewis or Dr. King, so that was a little bit of a stretch. But I think I gave enough details to make that picture fairly clear. And there’s lots of information out there if people want to gather it.
With “The Cherry Orchard,” you’re continuing the Russian literature connection you made on your last album (2015’s The Trackless Woods, on which she set poet Anna Akhmatova’s translated words to music; the song is inspired by Anton Chekhov’s play). You’ve got a Russian-born daughter, and you seem relatively steeped in that culture. What drew you to it?
Our daughter was 5½ when we adopted her from Siberia. She’s almost 24 now. So we had a little Russian speaker in our house. There was a lot of mystery there; she had a lot of qualities that were clearly unique to her culture. I can still see them today. So I wanted to understand as much as I could, which is still very minimal; I’m not going to pretend. But I wanted to find a way into that world to the degree that I could. So that’s what I did. I did those Anna Akhmatova poems and took a couple of Russian literature classes. And I found that I love the Russian writers. I must have some sort of natural affinity for the world that made my daughter.
Have you ever seen Chekhov’s plays performed?
I saw Uncle Vanya in Chicago. I cried through the whole damned thing. My husband and my daughter were by my side; they were just looking at me, like, “Is Mom having a breakdown?” I had the same reaction to The Cherry Orchard. I was in my class, this university class with, like, 12 people; I could hardly sit in my chair. There’s just something about the merging of intense elements in so much of Russian life and literature that something in me relates to. I actually had a lot of that in my own family history. Intense drama, poverty, violence, you name it, the whole male-female dynamic, the hierarchies. There’s something in it that is very familiar to me. I’ve just connected with a lot of that literature. Like, just in my body, I mean.
At your show, Pieta said the songs on this album feel really important, and she’s right. They do. You tackle some big topics, and you’re not afraid to name names and focus on divisive issues. I loved hearing you sing “Goin’ Down to Sing in Texas” in Texas, but putting a song like that out in today’s world, do you worry about blowback?
No, I worry about what would happen if I stay quiet. I worry about what will happen if I don’t speak up about these things. I’ve crossed over to that. When I was younger and wrote about the Vietnam War on “Wasteland of the Free,” I wasn’t worried. But then I became the target of a fair amount of hatefulness, to put it mildly, and that was surprising to me. But I’ve got my eyes pretty wide open about what’s going on here now.
No, I don’t feel worried about that. I feel worried about the people who will be hurt if I stay silent. My takeaway from my upbringing and the teachings of Jesus … you’re supposed to care about something bigger than you and invest yourself in it. I wouldn’t go so far as to say, “Oh, I don’t have fear.” Of course I do. But I do feel like that’s what we’re called to do. There’s a power and a confidence and a peace that can come with that as well. I feel that.
This week, we feature my conversation with beloved folk firebrand Iris DeMent. Born the youngest of 14 to a singing Pentecostal family in Arkansas and raised in California, DeMent released her iconic 1992 John Prine-endorsed debut, Infamous Angel, and has been creating poetic protest records and warm collaborations ever since (garnering two folk Grammy nominations along the way), culminating in her much anticipated and fiery new LP, Working On A World.
Certain songwriters in the folk field will occasionally speak up about injustice or corruption — but with Working On A World, DeMent puts the protest front and center: honoring luminaries like Mahalia Jackson, John Lewis, Martin Luther King Jr. and even The Chicks for giving her hope that putting your principles and life on the line will help bend history towards progress and righteousness.
DeMent, who is now based in Iowa with her musician and collaborator husband Greg Brown (check out their biting co-write “I’ll Be Your Jesus”), will be the first to say that at times in her wide-ranging career, playing clubs to enraptured but small audiences, she has questioned whether she was doing enough to make a difference. But songs like the epic Dylan-esque take-down “Going Down To Sing in Texas” show that Dement is still at her fired-up best, confronting the Lone Star State’s open carry gun laws that put so many at risk, while also spitting in the face of all the wannabe tyrants who shun the very progress she is still hoping to see. In many ways, Working On A World is a hard-won release of pent-up energy, created over the course of six years with co-producers Richard Bennett, Jim Rooney and Pieta Brown.
While many of her longtime fans are used to her fearless political confrontations — 1996’s seething The Way I Should and its dark anthem “Wasteland of the Free” demand answers from sexual abusers and government war mongers alike — casual listeners may only know DeMent from her playful duets with sonic soulmate John Prine, most notably the foul-mouthed love song “In Spite Of Ourselves.” With a little laugh, she says she’s alright with that too. Life is long and the music, no matter the light or the dark, is equally as powerful.
Songs can be truly short short stories. There is so little time, so little space to convey a complete narrative. That challenge has always thrilled us when crafting our music. When we were asked to create a themed playlist for The Bluegrass Situation, I thought through our own songs that formed the new album Close Enough to Hear (out February 3) and wondered what common thread tied them together. Many of them really are conveying a story, something with a beginning, middle and end. We all went back to our favorite short story songs and marveled at the writers’ ability to forge a genuine drama, with a plot and characters, inciting events and climaxes, in just a few short minutes. It’s a high wire act, where every single word counts and nothing can be wasted. Here’s a list of our favorite short story songs. — Evan Murphy (acoustic guitar), Mile Twelve
This song makes me emotional every time I hear it. Bruce delivers this Billy Bragg song so powerfully and honestly, giving it a distinctly American flavor. – Nate Sabat (upright bass)
I was recently turned on to Bobbie Gentry through the Cocaine and Rhinestones podcast by Tyler Mahan Coe (highly recommended) and stumbled on this song while checking out her catalog. She’s done such an incredible job painting a musical representation of that longing, wishing feeling of wanting to be included. And on a dorkier note, listen to how the phrasing of the hook is different on line one of the chorus than it is on line four. So, so good. — Nate
Our good friends of the duo Tattletale Saints are excellent songwriters from New Zealand, now based in Nashville. This song about Little Richard has beautiful, clear imagery that pulls you right into the song. It’s a mellow performance, not trying too hard and resulting in a memorable story about a unique Nashville music legend. – BB Bowness (banjo)
This haunting a cappella song written by Jean Ritchie is sung from the wife’s point of view as she awaits news of her husband’s fate down in the mine. The song captures the anxiety and uncertainty she feels while she imagines a possible future without her husband. — BB
A dozen cheap roses in a shopping cart, veins through the skin like a faded tattoo. Isbell’s tight, sparse images bloom into vignettes which form a complete story by the end of this song. A man has reached the limits of his patience with a stagnant life. His father lays dying in the ICU, he has no prospects, nothing to stay for. After long years, he finally decides to pack it up and break free. When I am in a period of writing I actually can’t listen to songs this good. They torment me with their lean, sinewy perfection. To use Isbell’s own language, there is no fat on these lyrics. Everybody knows you in a speed trap town. — Evan
“My name’s Joe Roberts, I work for the state” might as well be “Call me Ishmael.” For me, this is the quintessential short story song. There are major motion pictures with plots less deep. It’s the struggle between two brothers, Joe and Frankie, one a state trooper and the other a struggling veteran who can’t seem to stay out of trouble. “I got a brother named Frankie, and Frankie ain’t no good,” sings Joe. Maybe it’s the fact that I have two older brothers, but when Joe watches Frankie’s taillights disappear across the border I cry, even after hundreds of listens. “I musta done a 110 through Michigan County that night.” How desperate was Joe to catch Frankie, to save him from himself? This song has taught me so much about musical storytelling. Springsteen is larger than life, for me and so many others. I wish I could open the back of his head and see how he does it. Thank God we have his music, it’s sacred. — Evan
“Caleb Meyer, he lived alone in them hollerin’ pines” opens this exquisitely brutal ghost story. Gillian Welch has reshaped the very structure of modern folk songwriting. She and David Rawlings prove that when the song, the vocals and the playing are flawless you really don’t need anything more. “Caleb Meyer” is a haunting murder ballad. A woman fights for her life, finding a broken bottle to slash the throat of her would-be rapist. I am in that room with her when I listen to this, the hair standing up straight on the back of my neck. It’s a full-fledged Western, and she does it in three damn minutes. She is a force of nature. — Evan
The lives of Prine’s characters are smaller and simpler than the legends of epic folk ballads. There’s no steam drill, no six shooters, no gallows at dawn. It’s just Loretta, Davie and Rudy, a back porch, a TV that plays the same old news. This is Prine’s genius, making the mundane transcendent in its beauty and its tragedy. It’s like watching modern human life itself dancing on top of his gorgeous finger-picked eighth notes. He was one of our great American prophets, observing, critiquing, reflecting, teaching. He is missed so dearly. — Evan
“‘If this was the Cold War, we could keep each other warm,’ I said on the first occasion that I met Marie.” Ritter is a favorite of novelist Stephen King. It’s not surprising, given the literary grandeur of his songwriting. The strange, post-apocalyptic tale of Marie and the missile silo transfixed me when I first heard it. It’s more mesmerizing with each repeat listen. How does someone create a world so fully realized, so convincing, with such simple tools at their disposal? What a gorgeously weird tale. — Evan
When I was younger, I had four or five Bob Wills CDs that were pretty much on repeat for my whole childhood. This Cindy Walker song was on a couple of them, and every time I heard that fiddle intro, it would stop me in my tracks. I’d sit there completely absorbed in the stark, dusty imagery. This song is lyrically and musically as simple as it gets, but it packs a heavy emotional punch. When this song was recorded by Bob in 1941, the Dust Bowl was barely history, and I can feel the pain it caused in every beat. You don’t always need fancy chords and poetry to make a statement—sometimes you just need a semi-natural disaster. — Ella Jordan (fiddle)
How can you have a playlist without a Joni Mitchell song? The oppressively ordinary yet starkly evocative imagery in the second half (only Joni can put a dishwasher in a song) somehow reminds me a little of some of Lucia Berlin’s writing. This is one of those songs that if you had never heard anybody sing it and you just read the lyrics, it would still be a beautiful poem. One that takes you on a journey, and makes you feel things. One that makes you question your life choices. We all hope it’s only a phase, these dark café days…. – Ella
This is one of my favorite songs from Randy Newman. He sings about traveling around the United States as a child of a Jewish immigrant family in an attempt to find a home and live the American Dream. He deals with themes such as privilege and the issue of losing one’s culture while assimilating. This is the story of many families during the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th and continues to be a relatable topic today. – Korey Brodsky (mandolin)
Songwriter Unknown, Recorded by Hazel & Alice – “Two Soldiers”
The story of two Union soldiers during the Civil War who promise each other they will bring news back to their families if one of them does not make it through the battle. The imagery of war is vivid and the storytelling is masterful. Hazel & Alice bring this one to life in their incredible version. — Korey
Photo Credit: Dave Green Photography
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